


Where Werewolves Dash With Skates A-flash

by Swing Set in December (swing_set13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swing_set13/pseuds/Swing%20Set%20in%20December
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The werewolves take the ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Werewolves Dash With Skates A-flash

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the super teaser, IT LOOKS LIKE THEY WENT TO AN ICE RINK! This just makes me think of awkward group dates. So yeah. There you go.

Stiles shivers despite being the only one who actually wore a coat. He’s even rockin’ a scarf. And not a hipster one. He dug it out from his mom's old winter gear. The rest of the pack is already out on the ice. Jackson and Lydia flawlessly circling the ice like some Olympic pair. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if they broke out into an impromptu routine. They weave in and out between other skaters like graceful swans. Allison is patiently making her way around the rink with Scott who is griping her hands like the last life preserver on the Titanic. His knees buckling at every push forward, his feet out past his shoulders. Derek is circling the rink a leisurely pace and Stiles is a little bewildered that Derek actually looks happy. Well, less constipated than in the car, when he drove Stiles here, riding shotgun, with Isaac and Erica snuggled in the back of the Camaro with everyone else piled into Lydia’s car. The newest pair of wolves are sharing a red ICEE in a cavity inducing way that rivals anything Stiles has ever walked in on with Scott and Allison. Isaac actually looks happy when Erica leans into his arms. Stiles may be getting a cavity just by sitting in the stands.

Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks towards the ice rink’s cantine. He can smell the curly fries. The greasy potato saturated air calls to his stomach. Like a seductive whisper. Danny’s already gone off to flirt with the teen behind the skate rental desk. He debates going over and eating his feelings but he’s already got his skates on and would rather keep the facing planting to where ice is readily available. Besides he can’t be worse than Scott. He can always grip the sideboard like in a totally platonic way. Even share his fries with it later, like a gentleman. 

Stiles teeters down the stairs and congratulates himself on not face planting at the edge of the rink. He sets an unsteady blade onto the ice and pinches forward in an attempt to get some momentum only to pinwheel foward.

“Ack!” he yelps as gravity pulls him forwards, his hand flails towards the sideboard. He closes his eyes at the inevitable pain of a bloody nose but a strong grip grabs his jacket and pushes him upright. A warm band of heat sending a shiver along his arm. Warm breath down his exposed neck. He blinks his eyes open.

Derek is looking down from where Stiles is wrapped in between Derek’s arms.

“Uhhh, thanks,” he says awkwardly because Derek is holding him in a loose embrace.

Derek huffs. Actually looks fond. And Stiles feels a flush creeping up his face. Maybe he caught a chill on the ice. Despite the totally amazing scarf.

"I thought you could skate," says Derek, wrinkling his brow, he doesn't look angry, more that long suffering look he doles out when dealing with Jackson and Scott. "I clearly remember you suggesting this. Vividly."

"I can," declares Stiles, wondering why Derek hasn't thrown him to the mercy of the sideboards. Or the ice. Stiles values his life too much to draw attention to the fact that Derek's the sole reason he isn't icing his bruises on the rink. 

Derek snorts. A full on manly snort. He may even be cracking a smile. Unlike the one he uses to flirt with lonely deputies. One with his eyes. It's a startling sight. If Stiles' hands were free, he'd take a picture. You know, for posterity. Except his hands are busy death gripping Derek's arms. Stiles isn't going to over think the bicep factor that Derek is rockin'. 

"You assumed I could skate _well_ ," adds Stiles. Because the last time he skated was at Ava Carter's fifth birthday extravaganza. And there where chairs readily available to lean on. And he was closer to the ice, height wise. And wearing Batman snow pants. 

"And we all know what happens when you assume," responds Derek. 

Stiles chokes on air and looks up at Derek incredulously. 

"Did you just crack a joke?" Stiles gapes quite incredulously, his feet slipping from under him to gain some traction. 

"Did I?" Derek deadpans as he steadies Stiles by shifting his weight and wrapping his arm more solidly under Stiles' arms, pressing his left side into Stiles' right. 

"Derek cracked a joke. June 11th 2012. Comedic history, that is, for werewolves. Write it on the calendar," snarks Stiles, licking his chapped lips. "Should be recorded, for future werewolves."

"You think?" remarks Derek idly. 

"Absolutely!" chastises Stiles, looking up at Derek earnestly. Derek just grips his jacket more firmly when Stiles pitches forward. "Think of the pack. The pack needs to know their alpha isn't a crazed loner."

"Is that the rumor?" Derek asks dryly. Like the Sahara. 

"It could help with your PR," says Stiles. "You're a stand-up guy, Derek. Most of the time."

"And I was so going for all the time," says Derek. And Stiles really wishes he was a multitasker because snark was the last thing he expected from Derek. Brooding and fits of rage, yes. But snark. Stiles can't help how his heart jumps at that. 

He only notices half way around the rink that he's been skating with Derek's support. It's a good thing Derek's there to catch him when his brain catches up to his feet.


End file.
